


missing me one place, search another (i stop somewhere, waiting for you).

by flustraaa



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age of Adaline Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Disaster Sokka (Avatar), Bisexual Zuko (Avatar), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sokka (Avatar), Immortality, M/M, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar) is a Good Friend, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), ish, its 2014 my friends so sorry, no beta we die like jet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: he runs, it’s what he’s always done. when love becomes a rose— something with thorns, something that can poke and prick and expose him— something that can draw blood, he turns and runs. because the world is fleeting, and he? he just seems to be and indefinite amount of time and space.(or,the age of adaline zukka au no one asked me for).
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Kanna & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	missing me one place, search another (i stop somewhere, waiting for you).

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh v excited to share this one. hope to have it done by mid-march, but life is crazy. alright loves, see you at the end!

* * *

_ On December 31st, 2014, a taxi cab traveled _

_ through San Francisco from Chinatown to Marin. The car carried a single passenger, _

_ a young man.  _

_ His birth name, Zuko Sozin.  _

_ His current alias, Lee Suzuki. This is the first and last chapter of his story. _

* * *

He stands quietly in the quaint bedroom, fingers wrapped around a wad of money that most would question. But not the young man before him, not as he explains how he creates the forged identifications for hefty fee— not as he explains the importance of discolouration and dust. 

Not as the boy who told him his name is Alexander sits in a room with baseballs made out to a boy named Jet. He extends the printings, trading it for the currency that Zuko willingly gives in exchange for the ability to run and become someone new. 

Zuko supposes he’s always been good at that, and is constantly getting better. 

“Forgery is a felony,” Zuko murmurs, holding the very evidence of this young man’s crime in his hands, all wall being a walking oddity— one that claims identities more easily than Koh himself. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fine, six years in jail—“

Jet’s expression sours, hands balling into fists at his sides, “you’re a cop?” 

“No, I’m as far from law enforcement as you can get.” Zuko dismisses, words truthful as he sends Jet a look that he hopes tells him that he’s honest. “I just hate to see wasted potential. The autographed baseball in your room is made out Jet. Don’t get sloppily, it’ll be the little things that trip you up.” 

Zuko leaves before the teen can get out another word, turning on his heels as he leaves the apartment.

* * *

“Lee!” Piandao greets Zuko with a smile, settling a familiar box on the table. “We weren’t sure you would make it in today, you know, it being New Years Eve and all.”

Zuko only responds to him with a quiet chuckle, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves and pushing a hand through his hair, “there’s no fun until tonight, anyways, right? The parties and all?”

Piandao sends him a grin, glancing up from the box, “we’re digitising the news reels, finally, and I figured you might be up for it. I know they’re your favourite, and honestly, I think you’re the only one who’s touched that film player since the eighties.”

“I would love to do that,” Zuko tells his coworker, tugging the hefty box into his arms with a crooked smile. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Of course. Holler if you need anything.”

Zuko beams, “always.”

It’s like this he travels down the vast hallways, finally propping the box of old news archives against his hip as he pushes the key into the lock, and opens the door.

The room is bright, and as Zuko begins to sort through the labelled reels, he allows the warmth to wrap around him as he slowly makes his way through the things he never dare tell people he’d seen first hand.

Because Zuko is over one hundred years old, and sometimes, he wishes he didn’t remember the pain that brought forth all of the wisdom he clings to.

His eyes catch a film reel from the year nineteen hundred, and his chest aches a bit— teeth sinking into his lip as her embers the year that his face was scarred in a way that would never heal.

The year he would be forced to bare a mark that made his need to be invisible less achievable, the year that would bring questions for one hundred and some years to come.

He finds the year of Sozin industries, and he finds the year that he tried to protect people when he couldn’t even protect himself.

The Gods, it seems, are hardly on his side either— he finds the reel of the news from the year Mai had died, and Ty Lee’s follows close in suit. He finds the year that Azula had passed, and soon, he finds the year that Iroh had passed.

He takes a deep breath in, and he exhales heavily. He thinks, _how am I meant to move on?_

And his Uncles voice resonates clearly in his head, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he’s being hugged by the only father figure he’d ever had. He says, “ _you can’t. Not when so much of you lives so deeply in the past._ ”

Zuko is old enough to understand— he has lived enough lives to know that the only thing his Uncle ever wanted was for him to love and be loved from both sides of the sun.

But Zuko has never been too good at emotions, and he’s always been even worse at being brave— too scared of getting hurt.

He tries to watch the story on the miracle of the boy with the burn— the boy who had lived through the nightmare of having his head held to boiling water. The boy who a decade later would be drowned, electrocuted, and would nearly be killed from the shock at the hands of his sister— the boy who couldn’t seem to die.

He doesn’t make it far, looking away as the doctor helps him learn to walk again— watching as they covered his scar to avoid his identification.

It might work for those fifty years in the future, Piandao may not have recognised him in that place— it that time, but Zuko knows.

He can still taste the tears and feel the aftershocks of pain in his legs with each, slow step. He flicks the projector off, hands shaking as he returns the film to its original coil.

He thinks they may not recognise the desperate twenty-three from nearly on hundred years ago— but Zuko does. He sees him every day, crying for the person he was before this incurable stint of immortality.

Instead, he draws the shades to a close and watches the news from the day his daughter was born and deliberately tries to ignore the nagging feeling that one day, his little sunshine would leave him too.

* * *

For the first few years, he’d convinced himself that he had simply been gifted impeccable genes— that maybe Agni felt shitty for almost letting his sister kill him at the ripe age of twenty-three, that maybe— just maybe, he was was just going to catch up to his ageing friends eventually. 

The day Zuko watches Izumi get her first grey hair, is the first time he fully realises that he does not, unlike Bob Dylan, want to be forever young. 

And then, his Uncle dies— and he knows that if the world doesn’t take him out, he’ll take himself out eventually. 

He finds little joys in his life though, like the small midnight black cat that winds around his legs— filling the air with soft purrs as Zuko reaches down to scratch behind the creatures ear. 

“Hello, Druk,” He mumbles, hoisting the hall of fluff into his arms as he presses a featherlight kiss to his companions forehead. “How was your nap in the sun?” 

Druk mews, and as he often finds himself doing, Zuko smiles as he reaches into the cabinet beneath the countertops. He easily scoops the kitten food into a shallow bowl for his sweet creature, setting it on the ground and running a hand along Druk’s spine.

He walks away, tugging off his sweater, and reaching into the closet for a nice button down.

He finds himself caught in the articles of clothing that are well worn, ravaged by the the moths, travel, and years of wear and tear. 

He thinks of the all the times he’d nearly been caught, he thinks of the times he’d nearly become a science experiment. 

Something deeply cathartic washes over him as his hands stumble upon his Uncle’s old clothing— the pieces that have been tucked in the back of his closet for nearly sixty years. 

He sits on the floor, holding a deep eucalyptus coloured tunic to his chest. Slowly, he raises it to his chin, burying his face in it as his eyes settle upon a box of Mai’s belongings. Beside it, Izumi’s baby clothes and even a few of the things she would toddle about in before kindergarten. 

The rest is in storage, he knows this, but sometimes it feels like everything is gone— and he— well, he is always alone in the end. 

He sits there for an indefinite amount of time, staring at the memories as they flicker by— and in his chest, his heart aches with the pressure of a million and one emotions, and a billion moments of a life he’d never have again. 

He wonders, sometimes, if it is curse— and then, he wonders what he could’ve possibly done to deserve a pain like this. A tear in his psyche that will never, ever go away. 

_ (“If anyone contacts you,” he sucks in a shaky breath, unable to meet the eyes of his or wife, “Tell them I went to Europe on vacation, and that I never came back.”  _

_“Zuko.” Mai’s voice had broken, her hand finding his arm— Izumi finding his chest, burrowing deeply into it. “Don’t do this.”_

_ He’d shaken his head, a few traitorous tears slipping down his cheeks, “it’s not goodbye— I will never, ever leave you two. I couldn’t. Next time I see you, I’ll be someone else— but I will come back. I’m so sorry.” _

_Zuko will leave, and Izumi will break down and ask why it has to be like this. Mai will grapple with her own tears, and tell her he’s trying to keep them safe_ ). 

In a handful of weeks, he will disappear again— and he will never be Lee Suzuki again. 

But for now, Druk will butt his head against Zuko’s thigh, and he will he greeted with a wet laugh. 

“I’m not crying,” he’ll tell his favourite fiend as the phone rings across the room, “my eyes are just sweating. Hello?”

“ _Hiro_!” Toph greets boisterously as ever. He pulls the phone back with a quiet chuckle, “It’s so good to hear from you!” 

“You called me,” he responds, easily, rolling his eyes as he sits on the edge of his bed. “But I suppose it’s nice to hear from you as well, Toph.” 

“You’re not going to stand me up, right?” 

Zuko tsks, shaking his head as if she can see him through the phone— or at all, “of course not. Am I still picking you up at eight?” 

“Actually, Sparky, they’re sending a car for me,” Toph beams, and Zuko smiles to himself, running a hand over the cat on his lap. 

“That’s great, Kiddo,” he murmurs, “I’ll meet you there?” 

“Yes, and you better be on time to see me shred the piano,” Her voice is commanding, but there’s an ounce of hope that gives her away. 

“The Moonlight Sonata in C-Sharp Minor,” Zuko confirms. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I will see you at eight-theory sharp, Miss Beifong.” 

He can hear her maniacal grin through the phone. 

* * *

The thing, he decides, about growing older, is that memories do fade with age. But sometimes, he sees a photo, and he’s brought right back. 

He tries to not get caught up in the memories— he tries desperately to create new ones. More often than not, he succumbs to the urge to remember a time when he felt free— and ironically, one where he felt more safe and happy. 

He misses the first few years— before Izumi had reached her twenties, and long in advance to having to leave everything that he held dear behind. 

But the pull of the piano draws him near, and before long, he’s sitting with an old friend— one he met in the days when decided to return to college. 

He’d met Toph, who, by now is nearing twenty five— and she has no clue that Zuko doesn’t look anything like the old fart he claims to be. 

A title he’d so kindly endured from her, incessant, he might add, pestering. 

Because that’s how Toph loves— and also by punching him really hard in the shoulder, but that’s totally not the point. 

They talk and they simper, and for a moment in time— Zuko is just a twenty three year old, no more, no less— he just exists in a space where the world is old and somehow new— and everything is safe. He is safe. 

A young man finds his way over, and whether he’s trying to hit on Zuko or Toph, neither is sure, but Zuko reads him easily. He’s always been able to read strangers better, it’s getting close to someone that’s dangerous. 

“I’m Hahn.” the young man introduces, “how are you two tonight?” 

Zuko takes a sip of his wine, waiting for Toph to make her move— she doesn’t, and Zuko slowly sets down the glass, “Hahn is a painter, a starving artist too. He refuses to accept his affluent family’s help.” 

“Have we met—“ 

“No,” Zuko grins, extending a hand, “I’m Hiro, this it Toph.” 

“How did you know I’m a painter?”

“Oh,” Zuko replies, “there’s paint on your hands, and an original Cartier wrist watch on your arm. I’m really good at reading. I will leave you two alone, I’m going to go get some more cherry wine.”

Toph elbows him, and he snorts as he rises to his feet, making his way to the bar. Across the room, stands a boy wearing a deep navy blue tux, his hair pulled into a wolf tail.

He meets Zuko’s gaze, and halts all at once. For a moment, one that’s entirely foolish, he thinks, maybe he would risk it all in the name of love at first sight.

But then, a girl knocks into his side— and Zuko, ever running from his problems, raises his glass, and disappears out of sight. _Love_ , he believes, _is so incredibly overrate_ d . 

* * *

His life flashes in a blur, and while he maybe be old as shit— it’s moments like these, the ones that are most nostalgic that he wonders if his soul has always been old. If his body just needed to catch up.

He gets a call at midnight, his daughter and grandson’s voice a welcome warmth as he passes through the halls.

“Hello?”

“Hi dad,” Izumi is grown, and as she greets him, Iroh II’s own voice echos with a bright, “hi grandpa!” Together they chorus, “happy birthday!” 

“Thank you, my loves— oh, no. Don’t sing, please I’m old enough,” they stop, and he adds softly, “are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Incredible,” Zuko’s voice softens, “get some sleep, I love you both so much.”

They tell him they love him more, and like that— he’s alone, watching the fireworks. He stalls for as long as he can, bidding Toph a goodbye before settling into an elevator.

A hand, however, has other plans— wedging itself between closing doors before morphing into a body beside Zuko.

Zuko grimaces in pain for the hand that is sure to be bruised, and soon realises that— oh, it’s the (rather attractive) man in blue. 

He blinks once, and steps aside. 

The man, offers a sheepish smile, and holds his hand in his palm. Zuko glances at him, adjusting his cuff links in an attempt to assert his dominance. 

It fails miserably. 

“That was a risky move,” the silence is broken, and Zuko thinks, Oh God, I’m fucked. “Not introducing yourself.” 

Zuko rolls his eyes, letting out a quiet snort, “I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a daredevil.” 

The man doesn’t say anything, his gaze doesn’t even linger on the scarred skin of Zuko’s face. He just smiles, glancing at his feet. 

“I’m Sokka, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Zuko, to both of their surprise, doesn’t scowl. “Lian, but most people call me Lee.” 

And then, Sokka, in all his glory, blurts, “ _... I admit, you got the best of me. But it’s not over, you see, I will rise towards the sky, like a lotus wins its fight. I will not be denied the light._ _Like the lotus, I will survive._ ”

Sokka glances over, only to find his new companion fully staring at him. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, scratch awkwardly at the nape, “I— It’s from _Lotus_ by Jenny Littzi— that was really lame. Lian means Lotus, right?”

Zuko nods slowly, “my Uncle’s favourite pai sho piece was the white lotus tile.”

The elevator dings and Zuko spares another glance, “it wasn’t lame. I liked it a lot.”

He makes if halfway to his car before Sokka’s hand is taking ahold of his, “where are you going?”

“Home.”

“How about you?” 

“Back up,” he gestures weakly to the penthouse, and suddenly Zuko remembers the girl who had been looped around his arm. “I just wanted to spend thirty floors with you.”

Zuko hums, furrowing his eyebrows, “risky move, leaving your date like that.”

“My— _what_?”

“Your date,” Zuko quells, turning to look fully at Sokka, “the one in blue? Platinum hair?” 

“That’s Yue,” A smile tugs at Sokka’s lips, “she’s my ex-girlfriend’s current girlfriend— and also my ex-girlfriend. Y’know, maybe I need new friends.”

Zuko can’t bite back his laugh, hand on the door as Sokka gives it one last attempt. “Can I... would you like to go out with me?” 

“It’s been an adventure meeting you—“ he can’t let himself get close, “perhaps, I’ll see you around.”

He gets in the car, sending a pleasing look to Zuko. The fire in his cerulean irises dies, and Zuko thinks, that’s it— _forget me like the rest. It’s what’s best._

But as he drives away— he finds that there’s an empty feeling weighing heavily in his chest. 

It’s okay, he supposes, after all, it’s not like he’s never felt empty before. 

**Author's Note:**

> pls hydrate!! chat with me in the comments and let me know what you think :)


End file.
